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My Sexy Saturday: More fun with Dave and Melinda

by with 3 Comments Excerpts

LynnSexySaturday_buttonThank goodness for My Sexy Saturday. Without its weekly posts, this blog would get none of my attention at all.

Does it matter that I’m waist-deep in the first draft of my third Love and Baseball story? It’s still untitled for now, but I’m falling for Anne Marie Becker‘s suggestion, SLIDING INTO HOME. It works on more than one level:

  1. The hero, Greg, who’s always done all he can to distance himself from his famous father, has to make peace with dear ol’ dad. He must find his way home—both figuratively and literally.
  2. And then there’s the obvious baseball analogy involving Greg and his heroine, Jenn. Will he score with her? (Would he be the hero of a sexy romance if he didn’t?)

What do you think? Do I have a winner with SLIDING INTO HOME?

I just got word from Turquoise Morning Press that they’ve slated my next two stories, BEAUTY AND THE BALLPLAYER and the untitled masterpiece I’m currently writing madly, for March 2014 and April 2014, respectively. That’s just in time for a new baseball season …

But for now, I want to focus on my October release, DIVA IN THE DUGOUT*. For this week’s sexy seven, I’m returning to that deleted opening scene. After Dave and Mel had their fun, here’s how the morning after plays out.

***

She tiptoed around the room, gathering up her clothes. She found her skirt on the bathroom doorknob and her shirt on the floor beside the bed. Her bra dangled from the corner of the mirror. Her panties —

Where were her panties? She didn’t see them anywhere. They weren’t on the floor, or the chair or even the bathroom door. Wait — there they were, tangled in the sheet at Muscles’ feet. It looked like they were wrapped around his big toe.

Well, hell. She’d never get them back without disturbing his slumber.

Stifling a sigh, Mel slipped into the rest of her clothes and made her way to the door. Sans panties, she’d have to watch every step of the long walk home.

As she quietly closed the door behind her, she made a mental note to herself: Next time you’re having anonymous sex with a hot stranger, be more careful where you throw your clothes.

Or wear pants.

This time, Mel didn’t scoff at her conscience. Pants sounded like an excellent idea. If she ever wanted to have revenge sex with another hot, nameless stranger, she’d do it in denim.

DIVA IN THE DUGOUT, coming in October 2013 from Turquoise Morning Press.

*Scene not included in book.

 

LynnSexySaturday_button

My SexySaturday: Wild Boys

by with 2 Comments Dave & MelindaExcerpts

Er … don’t get the wrong idea. There’s only one Wild Boy, actually.

I just couldn’t resist the chance to misappropriate another ’80s song title for a blog post. (Like The Escape Club, I’m  living in the ’80s— just not headed for the ’90s. We’re smack-dab in the middle of 2013. Yikes. How did that happen?)

LynnSexySaturday_buttonIt’s Saturday again, and I’m sure you haven’t stopped by my blog to listen to me wax nostalgic for ’80s music. You’re here to check out this week’s My Sexy Saturday offering, right?

The rules, for those of you playing for the first time:

Post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words. The choice is yours. It can be from a WIP or something you already have published. Your post should be live by 9 am US Pacific Time on Saturday. Put those lucky 7s to work for you!

A while back, I treated you to seven paragraphs of deleted material from DIVA IN THE DUGOUT. With DIVA coming out in less than a month*, I thought I’d give you another seven deleted paragraphs, this time from Dave’s point of view—hence the Wild Boy in the title.

Five years ago, when he and Mel first met, Dave was as wild as they come. Now, his challenge is to shed that bad boy image once and for all and step into the toughest role of his life: Fatherhood.

Keep in mind, this is from the first chapter that I decided was really a prologue before ruthlessly slashing it from the finished manuscript. (A hero and heroine both behaving badly made neither look sympathetic.)

***

Arizona Condors shortstop Dave Reynolds cocked his head as he considered the perky blonde’s question. He was always up for a little off-the-field action.

“What do you have?”

Her smile widened as she brushed her breasts against his chest again. God, she was beautiful. The short, spiky haircut emphasized her green eyes and full, pouty lips — classic beauty queen looks some women would kill for. “You mean I’m not enough?”

When she seemed ready to pull away, Dave held her fast. Hard nipples contrasted with soft, full tits. The concierge at his team’s hotel had said the locals were friendly, but this woman’s greeting went beyond friendly. She’d plopped into his lap and kissed him “hello.” Now she wanted to party.

The party in his pants was already in full swing, due in large part to her enthusiasm. Not that he was surprised. Women loved athletes, and he took full advantage of the Condors’ road trips to get his share of tail.  It wasn’t usually quite this easy, though. Apparently everything — including desire — was bigger in Texas.

“You never answered my question.” The blonde watched him expectantly.

He noted the freckles dusting her nose. Despite her objection to being called young, she couldn’t be much more than 18 years old. But at 24, it wasn’t like he was over the hill. And if this barely legal Texas babe wanted to party, who was he to say no?

Dave swallowed again. “I think you’ll be more than enough.”

DIVA IN THE DUGOUT, coming from Turquoise Morning Press the week of Oct. 15. (*Scene not included.)

Unlucky 13? Not so much

by with One Comment Dave & MelindaMusings

Friday13I’ve never liked the number 13.

And I’m not alone. According to Wikipedia, the Stress Management Center and Phobia Institute in Asheville, N.C., estimates that 17 to 21 million Americans are affected by a fear of this day, making it the most feared day and date in history.

“Some people are so paralyzed by fear that they avoid their normal routines in doing business, taking flights or even getting out of bed.”

I’m not THAT bad. But I am superstitious enough to avoid the number 13 whenever possible. At work, our computer system used to create a new version of a page every time you hit “save.” I’d keep close watch on that number, and when it hit “13,” I’d hurry up and do something else — even something as small as add a space to something — and save again. I was secretly convinced my computer would freeze up if I tried to work in the 13th version.

Same thing with photos. When I adjust them in Photoshop, I never set the brightness/contrast level at 13, for fear it’ll crash my computer. (Our system is old and slow, and has gone down for less.)

I secretly do a happy dance when a high-rise building doesn’t have a 13th floor. (I hate elevators enough without having to stare at a “13” button during the ride — unless they’re glass elevators. Strangely enough, those I handle much more easily. Maybe it’s because they feel airier?)

With my aversion to the number 13, you can imagine how thrilled I was when the calendar turned the page to 2013. I feared I was in for an entire year of terrible luck.

Now that nearly nine months of 2013 are in the can, I might have to change my tune.

Why? ’13 is turning out to be my lucky year — at least on the publishing front.

 

I made this Instaframe photo to commemorate the day I signed my first publishing contract.
I made this Instaframe photo to commemorate the day I signed my first publishing contract.

I’ve sold not one but three manuscripts, and will make my Turquoise Morning Press debut with DIVA IN THE DUGOUT the week of Oct. 15.

Sounds like triskaidekaphobia will have to join the dislike/distrust of black cats in my book of superstitions debunked. The photo above is of my baby, Destiny, who crosses my path all the time and hasn’t brought me any bad luck. (In fact, she was the inspiration for both Bree and Mike’s cats in OVEREXPOSED.) Don’t ask my why she looks stoned in that picture. I snapped it just last night, and she had no access to catnip.

For more about superstitions, check out today’s post at the Ruby Slippered Sisterhood.

And come back tomorrow for a My Sexy Saturday post featuring my most superstitious heroine, Erin Mannering, and her hero, Brad Kingston, who — please forgive me — puts the “stud” in social studies.

DIVA has a release date

by with No Comment Dave & Melinda

When I decided I wanted to join the ranks of indie publishing last spring, my initial plan was to release my first book, OPERATION SNAG MIKE BRAD, around my birthday in October. I thought having a book out by my 42nd birthday sounded like an excellent idea.

Plans changed, and I decided to test the publishing waters with a holiday novella, out in November, instead.

Then I sold DIVA IN THE DUGOUT to Turquoise Morning Press. Today, I got word that they’ve set DIVA for release the week of Oct. 15 — just a week after my birthday (Oct. 7).

Turns out I’ll have a birthday book after all.

The universe really does have a sense of humor, doesn’t it?

On another note, it’s all happening so quickly! With final edits due Sept. 1, I’m going to be hard at work in August.

Did anyone get that license plate number?

by with No Comment Musings

Four days after signing a contract for DIVA IN THE DUGOUT, I’m still riding the high that comes with a first sale. But in the quieter moments (read: when I’m not jumping like a maniac and talking 3,000 miles a minute), I find myself wondering: What just happened here?

Yes, I’ve been working hard — writing new stuff, revising stories that still need help and, perhaps most importantly, opening myself up for rejection by putting my babies out there.

I’d also decided — not so long ago — to take the plunge into indie publishing. I signed up for a self-publishing class online. I hired a web designer and started working with a cover artist. I lined up an editor for HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS and sent OPERATION SNAG MIKE BRAD out to several readers.

Of course, I hadn’t completely given up on a more traditional path. After all, so many folks these days are doing both. Last Monday, I entered Bree and Mike’s story, OVEREXPOSED, in the Golden Pen. The goal was to get feedback to better prep the entry for GH2014. (I wasn’t satisfied with its 2013 scores, even though it landed in the top quarter. I wanted another GH final under my belt.)

But I no longer hung all my hopes on landing an agent/finaling in a contest/selling my book to a publisher. I opted to take my career into my own hands.

Funny how life works, isn’t it? My book deal found me only after I stopped looking for it.

The day after I entered the Golden Pen, I got the email from Turquoise Morning Press; on Thursday, I inked the deal. (I believe that makes me ineligible for the next Golden Heart competition. Correct me if I’m wrong, please. I hate to have wasted an entry fee.)

Did anyone get the license plate number of whatever sent me spinning in a completely different direction?

Is it simply that, as Depeche Mode says, “God has a sick sense of humor”? Or is something else at work?

They — whoever “they” are — say that love finds you when you least expect it. Does the same principle apply to book deals?

Maybe.

Dreams Dreams InsideOr maybe there’s something to visualization, to the principle of “acting as if.” That’s what these cards I found at Target the other day seem to suggest.

I also have some personal experience with visualization.

Back in late 2010/early 2011, as part of my ongoing weight-loss journey, I hooked up with a life coach. Among the things Jenn and I did was create a vision of the future me.

After chatting with me about my goals, Jenn emailed me this paragraph for me to consider:

I see a woman who is confident. She is glowing with happiness, she is vibrant. I see a woman who is fit, she is active, she enjoys the outdoors with her dogs and she practices regular yoga. She is lighter, she may even be at her goal weight! I see a woman who enjoys food. Food has lost it’s power over her. She is excited about her future as a writer. She is independent and she believes in herself. I see a woman who is a writing finalist, carrying a new MacBook. I see a woman who is a traveler. She is surrounded by people who love and support her, and she is connected with her family.

Wishes Wishes Inside

As best I could, I took our vision to heart and acted as if I’d already achieved the success I sought.

And guess what?

The fit, active yoga devotee is still mere pipe dream. Most days, I’d rather veg on the couch … or in a chair at Starbucks. The part about food losing its power over me hasn’t materialized yet, either, though I wish it would.

But the part about writing that I highlighted in purple? Spot-on.

I did become a Golden Heart finalist a few months later (and found out I’d won the Beacon on the very same day). I’ve also gotten not one but TWO new laptops since then. (Okay, the first one was reconditioned … but the current one is all mine. Never-been-owned, fresh out of the box — and I love it, even if I’ll be paying for it for a long, long time.)

While I can’t say for sure how big a role our visualization played in my success, it does make me wonder. Perhaps I should start imagining myself as a fit, active yoga lover who doesn’t let food control her.

It’s worth a shot, right?

LynnSexySaturday_button

My fourth contribution to My Sexy Saturday

by with One Comment Dave & MelindaExcerptsStories

LynnSexySaturday_buttonTo celebrate the sale of DIVA IN THE DUGOUT to Turquoise Morning Press, I’m digging deep for this week’s My Sexy Saturday blog hop.

The rules are simple:

Post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or 7 words. The choice is yours. It can be from a WIP or something you already have published. Your post should be live by 9 am US Pacific Time on Saturday. Put those lucky 7s to work for you!

Like I said, I’m going way, way back in my archives for this septuplet — back to DIVA’s roots. That’s right: These seven paragraphs kicked off the now-deleted first chapter of the story.

After my readers/CP insisted the chapter was really a prologue (it happened five years before the main story) and painted neither hero nor heroine likable enough, I dutifully chopped the scene that I loved. I still love that scene, which has some fantastic lines … but I know how to accept criticism. After a little — okay, a lot — of whining, I deleted the whole darn thing — and blogged about it.

I may have cut the scene from the MS, but I saved it with the hope that one day I could release it as an online extra — a “wanna see how it all began?” teaser. (File name: HowItAllBegan.doc.) That day hasn’t come — yet. But I can offer a tantalizing glimpse of what almost was.

The setup (directly from my query letter):

Melinda Cline was a rash, almost 20-year-old motormouth when her high-school sweetheart dumped her weeks before their wedding. She took solace in the arms of the first hottie she had the pleasure to meet, a sexy-as-sin ballplayer whose name she insisted she didn’t want to know.

Mel meets Dave Reynolds, shortstop for the semipro Arizona Condors, at her favorite watering hole, which she snuck into with a fake ID. These seven paragraphs were the original first seven.

* * *

When Melinda’s now-ex-fiance admonished her to grow up, she doubted playing tonsil hockey with a man old enough to be her father was what he’d had in mind.

The thought jarred Mel just enough to make her end the kiss. Through lowered lashes, she regarded the man whose lap she currently warmed. Saying he was her father’s age wasn’t fair. Old enough to be her slightly older brother, maybe. But definitely not her father.

She took stock of his lithe torso. Defined biceps. Warm, easy smile. Nope. No signs of middle age marring the perfection that was —

What was his name?  Dan? Drew? Del? Dave? Why couldn’t she remember?

Who was she trying to kid? She didn’t want to remember. His name didn’t matter — not one whit. It was far more important that he was here, all too willing to distract her from the spectacle in the corner.

Her ex of just two weeks had the gall to be at her favorite bar, canoodling with a blonde who looked — well, old enough to be his mother. No wonder Bud told her to “grow up” if that was his type.

She cast a mutinous glance toward Bud’s corner. He wanted someone older than 19? She’d show him just how grown up she could be.

* * *

Hmm. Reading that now, I can see my readers’ point: Mel isn’t terribly likable here. Dave fares no better as the scene goes on. Perhaps I need to rethink releasing the deleted scene, one-liners or no.

Diva in the Dugout, coming soon from Turquoise Morning Press.

The ECall

My story about The Call

by with No Comment Dave & MelindaProgress

The Call, when it finally came, didn’t happen the way I expected it to. Does anyone’s?

Rather than arriving with the ring of my phone, my call happened on the click of a mouse.

I was sitting at my desk at work Tuesday night, killing time while I waited for our editor to finish with the stories I needed for the page I was laying out. “Killing time” = surfing the Net.

A new email in sat atop my Gmail inbox. The subject line, CATEGORY ROMANCE SUBMISSION — DIVA IN THE DUGOUT, didn’t faze me. Don’t ask me why I didn’t make the connection, but I didn’t. I thought it was confirmation from the Golden Pen category coordinator, since I’d just entered the GP on Monday.

Yeah. Tell me why that makes sense when I entered Bree and Mike’s story, OVEREXPOSED, in the GP’s single title category. Can you say “blonde moment”?

Then I opened the email and read this:

The ECall

And immediately commenced squee-ing. I may or may not have burst the eardrums of my two coworkers who were sharing office space with me at 7 p.m. on a Tuesday. At the very least, I got their attention. Eric asked, “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Someone wants to buy my book!”

More squealing and hyperventilating (all mine) ensued before I dashed off a quick affirmative response … and received an auto reply thanking me for my submission. Eep.

Some poking around the website offered up a different email address, so I responded to THAT one, too. This time, I got a response from a real person, TMP CEO/Publisher/Owner Kim Jacobs. Kim said that email address didn’t go to the acquisitions editor, but that she’d make sure it got passed along.

You can bet I didn’t get a whole lot done for the next hour or so. Being superstitious, I didn’t want to tell just anyone the news before it was official … only everyone I saw, could text or email. 😉

I sent a text to Anne Marie Becker, who reminded me that being our chapter president was good karma. (We both sold after taking the job.) Then I texted the Boyfriend, mentioned it on a few of the loops I’m a part of and emailed my CP, Jennifer Faye, and a few other folks.

Every time, I said, “It’s not official yet, but …” before filling them in.

But I knew it wouldn’t feel real until I got another response from the acquisitions editor, Shelley Rawe. Until I heard back again, I’d worry that first email was a mistake … or that they changed their minds.

After work, I went home and tried to get some sleep. Every time I woke up, I checked the email on my phone. Nothing when I woke up to pee at 6 a.m. Ditto at 8, when the puppy woke me with his whining/crying because he got crated. At around 9, I saw the response I’d been waiting for.

Since then, we’ve exchanged a flurry of emails (none of which bounced back an auto response). I’ve submitted my other Love & Baseball story, BEAUTY AND THE BALLPLAYER, for their consideration as well.

And I received and signed the contract.

Screen Shot 2013-07-18 at 9.50.25 AM

My first contract. (I had to take a screen grab.)

May it be the first of many …

After receiving a copy of the signed contract, I hit all the social media sites: Facebook, Twitter … even Instagram (though I primarily use that account for my weight-loss blog). I also announced it here, at Chicklets in the Kitchen and my weight-loss blog. I’ve spent the hours since celebrating and basking in the congratulations that have been rolling in.

A part of me wishes I could have been at RWA Nationals. My coworkers have been great, but it’d be so much more fun to celebrate with fellow writers who really understand.

NARWA meets next week. I’ll save my party hat for them.

Back at Six Sentence Sunday

by with One Comment Dave & MelindaSix Sentence Sunday

Wow. Long time, no blog, eh? It’s been too long since I jumped into Six Sentence Sunday, so here goes.

When last we left Dave and Melinda, they’d just started making out. Terrible place to leave the poor dears, I know. These six sentences pick up several days later. Dave’s on the road with his team, still stewing over Mel’s attack on his character. Telling him she’d kept their daughter a secret because he didn’t strike her as father material. Hmph.

Dave reassumed his batting stance, ready to take another swing.

Matt stopped him by dropping a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve hit enough.”

Three hours at the batting cage wasn’t nearly long enough. He wanted to keep smacking balls around until he no longer saw the doubt in Mel’s big, green eyes …  until he forgot the mother of his child had so little faith in him. If she doubted his skills as much as he doubted himself, he didn’t stand a chance of succeeding.

Six Sentence Sunday No. 4

by with One Comment Six Sentence Sunday

Wow. With this weekend’s entry, I’ve completed a month of Six Sentence Sunday offerings.

Let’s see if I can end the month with a bang, shall we? These six sentences pick up after Mel watches Dave tuck their daughter in and read her a bedtime story, so she’s feeling pretty warm and fuzzy toward him.

My six:

When he reached out to brush her hair off her face, Mel reared back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Dave’s grin flickered on in full force, and something else melted inside her. “Renewing our acquaintance.”

There had to be something wrong with that idea, but with him looking at her like that, Mel had no idea what it was. As she leaned into him, her lips parted, already begging for a kiss.

Six Sentence Sunday

by with 2 Comments Dave & MelindaMusingsSix Sentence Sunday

I was totally bummed to find out last Sunday’s Six Sentence Sunday link was broken. I’ll try not to let that happen again.

This week’s submission is again from “Diva in the Dugout.” Soon after Dave meets his daughter for the first time, the three of them head to Mel’s car. He’s under the mistaken impression that Mel drinks too much because someone else spilled beer on her at the first game, so he suggests that she let him drive.

My six:

Mel stared at Dave. First he wanted her baby girl and now her car? Who gave him the right to take over her life?

You did five years ago when you had unprotected sex with the guy.

She ignored her conscience’s dig. “Who says I trust you with my car?”